Page 31 of Guarded By the Reaper

“No. They don’t speak to me, only to you. Don’t listen to them. Come on.”

He tried to pull me towards the door, but my legs refused to move. I was stuck in place, and when he saw his efforts werepointless, he lifted me into his arms. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my head in his chest.

“Take me to my room,” I whispered.

I thought he was going to walk out of the sunroom and up the stairs, but he chose to fulfill my wish in a different way. One moment, we were in the sunroom, surrounded by Poppets tapping on the windows, the next, we were in the middle of my bedroom. I opened my eyes and blinked in confusion. Whisps of dark fog danced around us, only to disappear seconds later like dust chased by a draft.

“What...? How did you do that?”

“I figured it was much easier to teleport,” he said, gently placing me down on my feet.

I clung to him, though, not wanting to let go. “I thought teleporting was much more complicated than this. That I’d feel… dizzy.”

Grim smiled, his teeth showing in a creepy, yet such a familiar way. His smile warmed my heart.

“I’m a smooth teleporter,” he said.

“I guess you are”. I lifted myself on my toes and reached for his face. He had one arm around my waist, and he was holding his scythe with his other hand. “Grim,” I whispered, my gaze falling to his lips. “What took you so long? You’ve been gone all day.”

“I went to see a friend,” he said. “Then I tried to find answers to your problem, but... We have to wait.”

I nodded, biting my lower lip. My face was inches from his. His lips were thin and pale. Seeing him from up close, I realized that there was some substance to him, even where it seemed like there was just bone, shiny and exposed. I couldn’t begin to understand how he was made, how he was held together by the magic that had revived him and recreated him a century ago.

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news,” he said.

“Shh...” I closed the space between us, pressed myself to him, and kissed him right on the mouth.

I felt him tense up. His hand, which had been resting on my lower back, gripped my shirt. For a moment, I thought he was going to pull away. He didn’t. He stood there, stunned, not knowing what to do. When I started moving my lips against his bony ones, he slowly responded. It was as if I had to coax him, assure him this was okay, show him that I wanted it.

In the end, he did pull away and looked deep into my eyes. I wondered what he saw when he stared into my blue irises like that. Did he see my soul? Because I could see nothing when I stared into his endless sockets, and it bothered me a little, to be fair. It was as if he was a mystery that I was never going to solve.

“Millie,” he whispered my name like a prayer. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could have any man... Why me?”

“Because you see me,” I said, clinging to him once more, pulling his face to mine.

“This can’t end well.”

“I don’t care.” I pressed my mouth to his again, kissing him hard. “I have less than two weeks to live.” I took his hand and led him to my four-poster bed. “I’ve been so sad for so long, and I’m tired of feeling sad and lonely. Will you help me feel happy for the little while I have left on this earth?”

He followed me, and when we reached the bed, I gently touched his hand that was holding his scythe. I could swear... he never seemed to let go of that thing. I knew I wasn’t supposed to touch it, so with a brush of my fingers on his wrist, I signaled I wanted him to leave it somewhere for once. I needed to feel both his hands on me. He understood, because he stepped away and left it leaning against the wall, next to the nightstand.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly removed my shirt. “Yes.”

He looked at me with such intensity that I felt naked before him, even if I wasn’t. Yet.

“You know I can’t...” He ran his fingers over his cloak, where it was well secured over his chest.

“I don’t care. With or without it, I want you.” I removed my bra, then, letting him see my round, heavy breasts. It was annoying that I couldn’t read his face – because there was nothing to read; bones didn’t exactly have... features – but the low growl that escaped him told me all I needed to know.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said in a low, husky voice. He moved closer, until he was standing between my knees. His hand reached out, and the tips of his fingers traced the curve of my breast.

“I think I have an idea...” My breath hitched when his fingers brushed my nipple.